


and, like gemstones, they glowed

by xsprinkledheart



Category: Arthurian Mythology
Genre: Family, Family Feels, Gen, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-19 21:14:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18978478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xsprinkledheart/pseuds/xsprinkledheart
Summary: Far away from home, Laurel thinks about apple-picking.





	and, like gemstones, they glowed

Laurel remembers how they would go apple-picking.

There were three - sometimes four - of them. There would be her father who took the lead, crown shining gold on his head. He’d hold her hand and they’d walk together for what seemed like a very long time to five-year-old Laurel, strolling through rustling grass and beneath spidery tree branches. She would walk as long as she could until she’d drop to the ground and Mordred - Mordred with his hair nearly pale as his skin, eyes shining dark brown behind his spectacles - would scoop her up and balance her on his shoulders. 

Sometimes Galahad would be with them. She thinks that sometimes the two would lock eyes - speaking a language without words, a language she couldn’t understand. His eyes shone green and bright, like the leaves of the trees. She remembers how he’d smile a lot more than he normally would - or at least, Galahad’s smile was different from when he was with others. Something about his smile seemed less… forced, less half-hearted stretching of lips into a smile’s imitation.

She was very small then, and usually needed Mordred’s help picking apples off tree branches. They glowed like gemstones - red, yellow, and colors in between. Her hand would wave about as she struggled to pluck apples off their branches, but Mordred would reach up just far enough to hand one to her. Sometimes she would sigh and tell him that she could do it herself, but time and time again it would always be just out of reach. Sometimes her father would get it for her, handing it to her and laughing quietly.

They would head back, arms full of fruit. Even though her mother would always tell them not to have too many apples before dinner, her father or Mordred would always hand her a few and she’d crunch away at them, concealing sticky fingers by the time they arrived back at the castle. And her mother would always  _ know _ , but she’d shake her head just a bit and hug her daughter anyways.

She thinks on this far, far away in Orkney. The window gleams, decorated with frost - long gone are the days of walking through a haze of humidity, squinting against the warm breezes down in Camelot.

They would go apple-picking.

_ Would. _

**Author's Note:**

> ...i don't have a lot to say about this one.
> 
> anyways, wrote this as a vent. take care~


End file.
